Close Range Christmas by Nicole Helm (ebook reader for laptop TXT) 📗

her, still lying on his pillow. She was sure her hair was a tangled mess and she likely looked as haggard as she felt. Still, he reached out and smoothed some hair off her cheek with a gentleness that had a lump forming in her throat.

“You haven’t had any contractions?”

Despite the emotion swallowing her whole, she was determined to play this off as no big deal. If she convinced him it was just normal, just good, maybe he wouldn’t talk himself out of it. “No, your penis did not spur me on to labor.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, but he ended up laughing. “You always say the damnedest things.”

She grinned at him. “It’s part of my charm.”

He stared at her so long the grin started to die. It was too serious a look, too serious a study.

“It is,” he finally said, with great gravity. “Are we really going to do this? Love each other. Raise this baby together. Be a family. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

And there it was. On another man she might call it uncertainty. But she’d been there when he’d survived being beaten near to death by his own father. It was a caution ingrained in him from all the ways life hadn’t been fair.

But in that tragic, unfair childhood he’d had Jamison. And Grandma Pauline. So she truly believed...he had the capacity to move past that caution. If given the right push. “I conned you into being the father of my baby, didn’t I?”

“I’m serious. I know you set a goal and go after it. I know you accomplish everything you want to. It’s who you are and... I admire that about you. But you have to be sure this is really what you want.”

She had to take a breath at that, because as much as she loved him, she wasn’t so sure he saw her for what she was. Wasn’t sure anyone did. She had walls and facades of her own.

But he’d cut to the heart of her. “I imagine there will be some surprises along the way,” she said slowly, trying to work through the right words. But sometimes there was no right word, no plan. There was only...honesty and heart. She didn’t like those times, but she knew if she was going to get through to Dev on a permanent level, she’d need to offer that to him. “Some hard times. But...we’ve already done that. I don’t know why it would change. Not when we love our ranches, our families. We want to raise this baby together. It’s not some fairy tale I’ve envisioned. It’s what we already have. Only together.”

His hand was still on her face, still gentle. He seemed to sit and carefully absorb each word. Then he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. “I’m going to go make sure nothing happened last night.”

She nodded, but she pulled the covers back. “I’m coming too. But it’ll take me about an hour to get there so you go ahead.”

He helped her out of bed first, but then he left the room while she got dressed and then headed for the bathroom. She wasn’t haven’t contractions, but she definitely felt weird this morning. Maybe she just needed to eat.

After pulling her hair back in a sloppy ponytail, she headed for the kitchen. She stopped short at the way a majority of her family was huddled around the table. Felicity and the girls were missing, as were Duke, Rachel and Tucker—who were probably out doing chores.

“Oh, no. What is it?”

“Brady’s letter came,” Dev said flatly.

“How?”

“Knives,” Brady replied, his voice void of any inflection. Sarah stepped closer and there were a variety of daggers in plastic bags on the table. Along with the letter. She assumed they’d put the knives in the bags in the hope there’d be fingerprints on them—but Sarah doubted it.

“What does it say?”

“‘Brady Wyatt,’” Cecilia read before her husband could, acidity dipping from every word. “‘Crimes: The subject has been the perpetrator of a wide variety of crimes since childhood. Extreme stalking, harassment, kidnapping, manslaughter and treason. Sentencing: For these acts, I do hereby sentence Brady Wyatt to death. This will be meted out at the judge’s discretion through the method B. Wyatt will remember from his father.’”

Sarah turned her gaze to Brady. Clearly he knew what that last line meant, but he made no effort to explain, didn’t want to explain.

At least, until Cecilia slid her hand over his on the table. Then he let out a long sigh. “It’s knives. Ace used to throw them at me. I’m pretty sure the six knives on the door were Ace’s.” He gestured to the blades on the table. “Like, actually his collection. Passed down to Anth, with the stories of what Ace did to me, I assume.”

“Well, you don’t go outside, he can’t throw knives at you. Problem solved,” Cecilia said fiercely.

Brady’s mouth curved slightly, as if he was trying to offer Cecilia a reassuring smile and failing.

Rachel, Duke and Gage came inside, snow clinging to their hair. They were still wearing their coats and boots instead of leaving them out in the mudroom. “Another letter?” Duke said gravely.

Brady nodded.

“Take off your gear now and come eat. All of you sit down and eat,” Grandma Pauline insisted. She frowned at Rachel’s back. “What’s on your coat, sweetheart?”

“My coat?”

Grandma Pauline reached out for the back of Rachel’s coat, but she stopped short. “Duke.”

“What is it?” Rachel demanded.

“Don’t move,” Duke said sharply. His gaze moved to Tucker, who moved around to Rachel’s back too.

Tucker swore, but it wasn’t an angry kind of swearing. There was a horrified note to his tone.

“What’s going on?” Rachel demanded. She started to reach back, but Tucker took her hand.

“You’ve got a note pinned to your coat,” he said, his voice rough.

“What? That’s impossible.”

Everyone at the table immediately got up and crowded around Rachel’s back. Sure enough, there was a piece of paper safety-pinned to the back of her coat.

Tucker’s